


Cable Knit Armor

by tomatopudding



Category: Sherlock (TV), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-26
Updated: 2014-04-26
Packaged: 2018-01-20 21:24:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1526288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tomatopudding/pseuds/tomatopudding
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John Watson is brought in to take over the theoretically dead Phil Coulson's role as the Avengers' handler. Clint is not amused.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cable Knit Armor

**Author's Note:**

> I know that there are several fics out there that use the concept of John Watson replacing Phil Coulson as the Avengers' handler, but this is my own take on it. I'm not too thrilled by the ending, but overall it came out the way I wanted it to.

The first time Clint saw John Watson, he didn't think much of him. He was shorter than Clint had imagined based on Fury's description and wearing an oatmeal colored cable knit monstrosity that looked rather warm despite it's monstrous status. There was nothing about the graying blond hair or mild smile that screamed "grizzled war veteran." The only thing about him that belied some sort of previous action was the heavy limp that he controlled with a sterile, hospital issue aluminum cane. Clint gave him a month before he gave up and left. Natasha bet on a week and Tony had gleefully put his money on two days. 

Tony quickly lost the betting pool when John settled himself into life at the Avengers tower. Somehow, John had some sort of uncanny ability to have something in common with everyone. He did yoga with Bruce, oversaw Steve's training, plied Thor with new pieces of "Midgardian technology" to play with, indulged Natasha's Bond obsession, and traded dry wit and sarcastic barbs with Tony. The only one he doesn't manage to become fast friends with is Clint himself, but not for lack of trying on the mild-mannered doctor's part. Being under Loki's mind control magic nonsense had given Clint an acute case of trust issues. Although, Clint had never been particularly keen on social interactions even as a child. John hadn't given Clint a reason not to trust him, but new people made him nervous. Not to mention, John Watson was no Phil Coulson. 

"You should give him a chance," Natasha told him one evening, happily sated by a Bond marathon and JARVIS's famous burritos.

"He's not Phil," Clint insisted.

Natasha gave him a sly grin, "We all know about your little man crush on Phil."

Despite the fact that he also felt full to bursting, Clint levered himself off the couch to storm off in a huff.

Which wasn't to say that John didn't have his uses. He didn't join them in the field, of course, but one of the issues that came with being a well-known and recognized super hero was the super villain wannabes with their faux bravado and maniacal laughs. And guns. There were always guns.

It was three weeks in to John's stay when he first came in contact with one of those obsessive weirdos. They were all out together on one of the group field trips John has instigated and insisted on after his first few days as a way to get Bruce and Tony out if the lab for a few hours and promote what he liked to call team bonding. Clint thought it was like John was treating them as children, but everyone else, especially Steve and Thor who were still discovering things about their current time period and world respectively, enjoyed them, so Clint tagged along anyway. They were approached by the usual autograph-seeking fans and women swooning over Tony's money or Steve's admittedly impressive muscles. 

Clint almost didn't see the guy until it was too late, but the tell-tale flash of light off of the dull gray gun barrel caught his eye as it was being leveled at Natasha. Before anyone could blink, and almost faster than Clint could see, John was on it, gripping the would-be assassin's arm and twisting it behind his back, making him lose his grip on the gun as he was a shoved into a conveniently near-by building. The man whimpered in pain and John's usually clear blue eyes were cold steel. Clint knew that his mouth was hanging slightly open, but he didn't bother to close it because everyone else was the same. The fans had scattered, leaving only the team clustered together. 

"Whoa," Natasha breathed.

Clint couldn't help but agree. He had worked with Natasha many times and he had thought that she was the fastest-moving non-super powered person he had ever met. 

Once the police arrived to cart the guy away, John was back to his usual mild-mannered self, giving them a little smile before herding them along to the next stop of their outing. It wasn't until John took his cane from Bruce's hand that Clint noticed he had been moving fine without it while subduing the threat. Clint wouldn't say that that was the be all and end all of his trusting John Watson, but it was a good step forward. The be all end all moment didn't occur until late that same night. Technically, Clint supposed, it was extremely early the next morning. 

Clint awoke with a start, his breathing heavy and labored, skin clammy with the cold sweat of fear, his throat rough and parched. This had been a regular occurrence since his unwelcome experience with Loki. The construct of the nightmares were always different, but they always ended the same way, with the screaming of his friends and teammates, a reflective surface always showing the cold ice blue of his magic eyes. This had been the first nightmare in the past few weeks and Clint felt particularly rattled as a result. It took him a few moments to notice that someone was calling him name. A soft British voice. His first thought was of Loki and he reached out to wrap his hands around the Norse god's throat, but instead of the cool metal and silky material of Loki's outfit he found soft wool. Clint blinked until Loki's smirk turned into the concerned face of John Watson, the archer's fingers twisted into the same oatmeal colored monstrosity John was wearing when he first arrived. Clint vaguely noted that it was indeed as soft as it looked, perhaps even softer, as his heartbeat slowly returned to normal. John smiled in relief.

"You're back with us, then," he murmured, his voice intentionally pitched low so as not to trigger another panic attack. 

Clint let go of John's jumper as if burned, putting on an expressionless face.

"Nightmares," John said with certainty, trying to catch Clint's reluctant eyes, "I know the feeling."

Clint snorted, "Right, of course, everyone you hurt in Afghanistan was your best friend."

If John was surprised that Clint knew his history, he didn't show it, "Maybe at one point I would have nightmares about Afghanistan, but not anymore."

Clint looked up at John, surprised. Worse than Afghanistan? 

John took a deep, steadying breath and looked Clint in the eyes, the archer allowing him to keep the gaze this time.

"One year ago today," John began, "My best friend jump off the roof of the hospital I earned my degree from and I had to watch."

Clint's breath caught his throat, "How do you keep yourself together?"

John's smile turned wry, "Who says I am?"

It was only then that Clint noticed the raw redness of John's eyes and the faint salt tracks on his cheeks. Clint was struck speechless. John was always so steadfast and stolid and stoic and solid. So emotionless yet warm at the same time. This, however, was something new. Clint couldn't help himself, he quickly drew John into a bone-crushing hug. Their position was slightly awkward with Clint still in bed and John with his top half twisted around, but John gave a little huff in Clint's ear and submitted to the embrace. 

After a few moments, Clint said, "This sweater is much comfier than it looks."

John chuckled, "First of all, the proper term is jumper, thank you very much."

Clint joined John's laughter as they pulled apart.

"I like it because it's soft," John continued, "It feels like home. Sherlock hated it."

Clint could tell by the tone in John's voice that Sherlock was the best friend he had mentioned.

"All the more reason to wear it," Clint joked.

John laughed again, "True," he sobered slightly and caught Clint's eyes again, "Look, I know what it means to lose a friend and I'm not trying to replace Coulson, I know I never could, but if you'll let me, I want to try to protect you, all of you. I've seen far too much death for one lifetime. "

It was at that moment that Clint decided he could trust John Watson, he wasn't Phil but he was definitely the same sort of man.


End file.
